


Springs the Wood Anew

by sevenfists



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-24
Updated: 2009-01-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 11:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10437291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfists/pseuds/sevenfists
Summary: Merlin and Arthur rolling around in a field full of daisies.





	

Arthur was furious when he found out about the whole magic thing—and hadn't _that_ been a debacle, with the chandelier and Morgana's dress and the hideous bat-like creature spitting black goo everywhere, and Arthur vanishing into the thing's maw—and he didn't speak to Merlin for an entire week; and then there was that terrible conversation after the midsummer feast, when Arthur drank too much wine and cried and talked a lot about horses and chivalry, or something; and the morning after that, when he cursed at Merlin for a solid ten minutes, and then said, "Oh, quit looking at me like that and bring me some breakfast; I hate it when you go around like that, all—with the eyes, and," and then turned red and refused to say anything else. So Merlin didn't think he was entirely unreasonable in concluding that Arthur was clearly a complete girl.

Still, this was taking it a bit too far. "You want to pick flowers," Merlin repeated. He'd found it was generally best to remain neutral, and let Arthur dig his own grave, as it were.

"Yes," Arthur said. "And if you knew anything, you wouldn't use that tone with me; but luckily for you, I'm accustomed to you behaving like an absolute clod. Morgana's birthday is tomorrow, and she enjoys flowers, and I enjoy it when Morgana is in good spirits and not yelling at me; and as you're still my manservant, despite all my reservations, you're to accompany me."

"Flowers make me sneeze," Merlin said, which wasn't true, but honestly, Arthur was getting more eccentric with each passing month, and Merlin thought it best not to indulge him. At the rate things were going, it wouldn't be long before Arthur started dressing in the jester's costume and juggling small animals during court functions.

"I'm sure Gaius can make you a potion for that," Arthur said blithely. "Now quit stalling and put on my boots."

Merlin did as he was told, and didn't argue with Arthur or try to change his mind even once. Really, he was turning into an excellent manservant, and it was to Arthur's detriment that he wasn't able to acknowledge Merlin's good qualities.

They rode out. It was early July, and beastly hot, but it got cooler once they were in the forest; and for once Arthur hadn't put Merlin on a horse that tried to throw him off, but had instead given him a sedate brown pony who paused from time to time to browse at the undergrowth; which was fine with Merlin. It gave him an excuse to lag behind and gaze about at the trees and enjoy the sunlight. Arthur never wanted to enjoy anything; he thought the woods were only useful for riding through and hunting in.

Arthur ignored all of Merlin's lallygagging, and after a half hour of riding turned them off the main path into the trees. Merlin's pony balked, no doubt reluctant to wade in among all those branches and thorns, and Merlin didn't blame her at all. "Are you sure we ought to be going in there?" he called after Arthur.

"Don't argue with me, Merlin," Arthur said, and so Merlin sighed and followed after.

Aside from the thorns, it was hard to be unhappy: the woods were full of life and growth and green things, and soon Merlin caught himself whistling a song his mother had sung to him when he was a child, something about ewes and cuckoos and seeds growing.

"Stop it with that blasted noise," Arthur said, and Merlin grinned and started singing the chorus, and wouldn't stop even after Arthur began pelting him with pine cones. The worst had already happened, and Merlin was neither dead nor exiled, and he thought that if Arthur could handle sorcery with relative (for Arthur) aplomb, then surely he would be able to tolerate a bit of off-key singing.

At last they broke through the trees and into a wide, sunny meadow, covered with white and yellow flowers swaying gently in the breeze. Arthur climbed off his horse and tied her in the shade, and Merlin did the same, only a bit frightened that he would be kicked or gnawed upon—one never knew, with horses.

"Come on, then," Arthur said, and began to march determinedly out into the field, as though he were setting out to kill something truly dreadful, his red cloak billowing behind him. He was striking, and Merlin paused for a moment to admire him—the strong line of his back, the way his hair caught the sunlight—before remembering that he was still angry with Arthur, for yelling and for being so insufferable, and ashamed of himself, for concealing the truth for so long. They had been friends, before. Now Merlin wasn't sure what they were, but it was something far more brittle and volatile.

Merlin had to scramble then to keep up, with how swiftly Arthur was walking, and for a moment it seemed as though Arthur wouldn't stop: that he would keep going until he had walked right off the edge of the earth. Then he did stop, and dropped to his knees, and lay down on his back in the tall grass, his arms and legs spread out like he was offering himself—to the universe, maybe; to the ground itself, to the entire world. Merlin stood above him, not sure what Arthur expected him to do. Arthur's eyes were closed, and he was smiling; he looked happy.

"You're making me nervous," Arthur said, without opening his eyes. "Lie down. It's very nice; I might even take a nap."

"I thought princes didn't nap," Merlin said. He sat down in the grass and crossed his legs. Lying down seemed undignified—it seemed too close to Arthur and his—to everything that he was.

"I'm not a prince out here," Arthur said.

"Is that so," Merlin said, for lack of anything else to say.

"Yes," Arthur said. "Lie down."

So Merlin did; far be it from him to deny the whims of his prince. He and Arthur were close enough that their knees knocked together, bone against bone. The wind blew across Merlin's face and ruffled his hair. It smelled of hay and summer. He lay on his back and looked up at the sky, the fluffy clouds that passed, their shapes mysterious. Arthur was like that: pushed by the wind, unknowable. "It's a nice day," Merlin said, inanely.

"Yes," Arthur said. He turned his head to look at Merlin, and his eyes were open then, blue as the summer sky. "You lied to me."

Merlin had: more than once, and for years—for two years, from the time he met Arthur until the time Arthur figured everything out, and Merlin hadn't wanted him to, even then. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have—I should have told you. Earlier. It wasn't—I was just afraid that you wouldn't believe me. Or that you would react poorly, I guess. Which you did, might I remind you."

"I may have overreacted a little," Arthur said. "But you—I thought I could trust you."

"You can," Merlin said. "It's the only thing I've ever lied to you about."

"Really?" Arthur said. "The only thing?" He rolled over onto his stomach, his chin resting on his folded arms, his face turned toward Merlin and his sly mouth curled up into a smile. "I would have thought you'd have more secrets than that, Merlin."

"No," Merlin said. His mouth was suddenly dry. "I don't have any secrets?"

"Not even one?" Arthur asked. He pushed up on one elbow and reached out to touch Merlin's face: the corner of his mouth, the line of his chin. "I was hoping you'd have at least one secret to share with me."

Merlin inhaled. Arthur was coming closer, his hair falling in his eyes, his face bright and wide open. Merlin closed his eyes, not wanting to see what came next, whatever it was; and his eyes were still closed when he felt Arthur's mouth against his. Arthur had a bad habit of chewing on his lower lip, and the skin was rough there, but soft everywhere else, and Arthur's hand was careful against Merlin's jaw, tilting Merlin's face so that their mouths slotted together perfectly, deep and sweet.

"Oh God," Merlin breathed, just as Arthur's tongue pushed into his mouth. It was everything he'd been afraid to imagine: the clean air, the sharp scent of crushed grass, the weight of Arthur's body pressing Merlin into the ground.

"Mm," Arthur said, and he rolled them over, so that Merlin was on top, resting between Arthur's spread legs, and Merlin felt himself smiling, glad and heartfelt, unstoppable.

"You know," he said, pulling away from Arthur's mouth, "we're going to have horrid grass stains."

"That's not my problem," Arthur said. "As I recall, you're the only one here who does any laundry."

"You smug bastard," Merlin said, and kissed Arthur again, feeling Arthur's hands slide down his back to cup his arse, pulling him closer. It was—God, Arthur was insatiable, and didn't even seem to want to let Merlin catch his breath. Merlin pushed away, holding his weight on his palms while Arthur kissed his neck. "I thought we were supposed to be picking flowers?"

"The flowers can wait," Arthur said. "I don't like Morgana _that_ much, after all," and Merlin laughed, and let Arthur pull him back down.


End file.
